San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1887-09-03
A Dangerous Game.
by THE AUTHOR OF my DEAREST HEART"



ed, that it crept in gradually and Intervene
itself all uncOnsciously TO them with the
prose of everyday existence-sOme that
their lives have held no story, have been I'M
eyentful and regular throughout, and that
not even a thought uncomfortable to rule
has entered into their minds.
|, Viola ThOrne, had often longed, girl
like, for the time when some glimmer Of
romance should penetrate to my path-fOr
had fancied romance must be sweet and
pleasant; and, suddenly and unlocked for,
as my eyes first alighted on ST. Gabrel's
Grange, the CLEAN came, falling with the
bright moonlight across the carved and
pointed gables, the square battlemented
central tower, the twisted chimneys, and
the great mulliOned lattice-paned windows.
remember that white owl was perched
on the bare bOugh of one of the trees that
darkly overhung the narrow lane along
which we drove; 1t rose up with boot of
alarm, and was watchingi it curi0usly, when
turn in the road and gap amid the skele-
ton branches suddenly revealed the Grange,
my future home.
There were some black fir-trees behind it,
and the mOonbeams shOne out in contrast
intensely white and clear on the gray-stOne
pinnacles and bays on which they rested.
We were some distance from the house yet,
and we looked across broad lake, lying
part I'm gloom beneath rank OyergrOwth Of
shrubbery, and part in light, where the
round moon was reflected in the still water
in the midst of faint shadowingO of the far
away gables and tower.
could have believed we were passing by
only the ghOstly sembance of mansion,
looming there against the clOudless sky,
and lit up by the spectral moonbeams, and
gazed at it with drawn-in breath and
trembling pulses; it looked so lovely, and
yet so weird.
The coachman turned round his head to-
wards me- and broke the silence for the first
time during my five-mile drive.
That is the Grange" he said, pointing
with his whip, and then turned back to urge
on the horse to faster pace.
And looked at the Grange, wOnderingly
imagining what those mighty walls held for
me, and thanking In my heart the fate which
had led me to their stately beauty. l was
fascinated by its melancholy and loneliness,
so strange to me, and loved 1t from that
hour.
My life had been so uneventful and 80
dull, lOnged for something new. l was
one of eight children, and the odd one, the
out-Of-place and Isolated one one sometimes
finds in a large family. My two elder SIS
tiers were companions from babyhOOd; my
eldest brother was in business and about to
marry his partners daughter; then came,
and after me two lads of seventeen and fif-
teen, and two young girls at school, At
eighteen II had been proposed that l should
quit the home-circle and work for myself;
and for more than two years | had done so.
had been a gOvernesS to half-a-dOzen noisy
spoilt children for one year, and for nearly
eighteen months after that | had been chain
ed to the side of an old lady and her poodle
as a companion. My own home was in a
quiet cathedral city. My governess-experi-
ence was gained in a northern manufacture
ing town, and my last place Of residence
had been a country village. Terraces and
semi-detached villas had been my abode all
nv life, and was sick of them-sick of de-
corous gossip, of routine and peaceful mo-
nOtOny.
The very name of st. Gabriel's Grange at
tracted me, for it seemed to hold pOSSibili-
ties: to be reader and amanuenSiS to an old
gentleman was at least change from my
previous occupations. The salary was large,
the requirements were not very grCat-meTe-
Nv that | must read aloud, sing. and play
chess; and, after numerous particulars had
been somewhat perenptOrily eNacted, was
engaged.
On this January evening when first saw
the Grange-I had been travelling for four
or five hours befOre-I was met at NOrbury
Station by the vehicle which was to take me
to my destination. 1t had been dull, damp
10, hnf
was slow and tedious, and !, well wrapped
up though / was, had grown cold and de-
pressed. But somehow forgot the weari-
ness when | looked on those gables and bat
Elements and shining easements, and with a
strange intensity of interest fell to wonder
Ing what was the story of that house and its
inhabitants.
We turned from the country-rOad up a
broad drive; there was little cottage at the
entrance, scarcely to be styled lodge, for
its architecture was of the simplest descrip-
ton, and the large gate stood open as if it
did not receive much attention from its
keeper.
In the moonlight saw the house before
me, to my right hand, and one window at
the side facing me was, noticed lit up; 1t
was large bay-window with lOzenge-shap-
ed panes, and midway a cOat-Of-arms in rich
colOrs shone forth. To the left were park
land and plantation, and in the middle dis
lance CLEAN Of white revealed the locality
of the lake we had passed.
In front of the house ran narrow terrace
walk some three or four feet higher than
the drive, and leading up the bank to the
great doorway were broad stone steps with
heavy balustrade, guarded at either end
by stone eagle, the GascOigne badge.
An elderly woman received me in large
half-dark hall in which hung some FURNISH
ed armOr and gloomy Oil-paintings; on each
side were doors leading to other parts of the
hOuse-fOr indeed the hall was as an en-
closed courtyard, with beautiful fretted
roof, around three sides of which the man
sion was built.
81 will show you 10 your room, Miss
ThOrne," said the woman, 'if you will fol-
low me. My lady is dressing; but she will
see you when you come down"
She opened the half-glasS door farthest
from us, leading the way into wide oak
panelled passage and up a broad staircase.
John and wilkins will bring up the
boxes, and, if there is anything you want
miss, kindly let me know"
Are you the hOusekeeper?' l asked, re-
garding her stiff silk dress and comedy cOun-
tenance.
Mrs. Creams, at your service, miss. VIII
you please to require anything%'
looked round the room. 1t was large
and comfortably furnished, and on the
hearth burned a cosy red fire.
There is little sitting-room beyond"
Mrs. Creams explained, crossing the floor
and flashing her lamp into the recesses of
the adjoining apartment, "also a small
dressing-rOOm."